The Rising Darkness
by kasey07
Summary: In an alternate universe, Ginny Weasley escapes her evil stepmother by disguising herself as a boy and joining the royal army in time of impending war. However, she finds an ally in an unlikely man. Loyalties will be tested, but adventure is promised.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.**

* * *

"Ginevra!" An angry screech cut through the peaceful morning like a blade through paper. Ginny opened her eyes, squinting against the harsh sunlight, and groaned. "Ginevra! Where are you?" the same awful voice cried again.

"Coming, Stepmother!" She pulled herself off of the uncomfortable, straw-stuffed mattress and blinked a couple times. The small attic she that she used as her bedroom was already brightly lit, and judging by the angle the sunbeams came through the window, it was already late morning. Cursing, Ginny hurried down the steps of the creaking staircase, almost running into Stepmother Olga who stood at the very bottom with hands on her hips and nostrils flaring.

"You lazy, insolent, girl." She struck Ginny, causing her to wince when the blow came in contact with her old bruises. "Fetch the water, and no breakfast for you! When you're done that, you are to wake and dress my daughters." Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked—no, _sashayed_ in the direction of the parlor. Digging her nails into her palm, went to the kitchens to do as she was told even though she was fuming with rage. She slammed the buckets on the ground than was necessary, ignoring the looks of the cook and the two other servants of the household, and dragged them into the courtyard where a well was waiting for her. At least she was alone there with no one except the company of chirping birds. Turned into a slave in my own home, she thought bitterly along with some other unkind words towards her stepmother and stepsister.

It all started, if she remembered correctly, when she was quite young, too young to even understand the concept of death or the idea that her mother was gone. Molly Weasley had gotten sick one spring, and after days of raging fever, her skin suddenly cooled and she stopped breathing. What had happened after was a blur in Ginny's memory; all she remembered was her father bringing home a new woman, an awful woman, who wore too much perfume, wore a false mask of sweetness, and insisted Ginny call her Stepmother Olga. Ginny supposed that her father's moderate wealth and occupation as a merchant had appealed to Olga, so much so that she eventually married him. And with her, she brought her daughters, Pansy and Millicent, who were at least ten times worse than Olga Parkinson. Arthur had meant well, Ginny supposed, but it was very soon after that he discovered that he found it unbearable for him to remain home with a constant reminder of his late wife, so he sent, Ron, his only son to the castle to train to be a knight, left his daughter under the "care" of his new wife, and left for foreign lands. Ron, happy with his new life as a knight-in-training and relieved of having escaped the presence of Olga, made sure to never come back. It had been several years since Ginny had seen either her father or her brother, and she had already forgotten what they both looked like. Her letters to both of them went completely unanswered, but Olga lived on a steady flow of incoming money without lifting a single finger so Ginny guessed that her father was still alive and funding them. So every day, Ginny endured the abuse of her step-family (hags, really, and completely undeserving of the word "family" in the same sentence) while the people of the town would pretend that they did not know of her unfortunate situation. They were all afraid of Olga, and if Ginny ran away, no one would help her and she would have nowhere to go.

After she was finished hauling the heavy buckets of water back to the kitchen, she went upstairs and knocked loudly on the bedroom door of Pansy and Millicent. It was dark inside, the large window drawn shut with heavy, velvet curtains whose sole purpose was to allow indolent, spoiled brats the longest sleeping time possible. "Time to get up," Ginny said sharply. She didn't want to spend more time with either of them than needed. "I don't have all day and Merlin knows you couldn't get dressed to save yourselves." Pansy sat up and scrunched up her pug-like face, scowling at her while Millicent barely moved in the bed beside hers.

It took close to an hour for Ginny to finally get them dressed and presentable, and by then, she was already exhausted from trading barbs with the Parkinson sisters. They had already promised her a beating for talking back, and pinched her hard enough to leave another bruise before they joined their mother for the midday meal. It was too-soon after that Olga found Ginny while she was sweeping the steps and instructed—or rather, demanded the windows to be washed and the parcels to be picked up from the tailor's.

Ginny didn't mind running errands for them in town (it was only a short walk to get there from the house); picking up items or delivering flirtatious letters from Pansy to some poor, unfortunate gentleman who had caught her attention gave Ginny some free time away from the hags. It was washing the windows that she truly abhorred, especially the windows in the dining room which ran from the high ceiling to the floor; it was too far for her to reach all the way to the top. The only thing Olga allowed her was a rickety, old ladder that was barely held Ginny; Olga refused to let her step on any of her fine furniture. "If you could only see what she's done with all your money, Father," Ginny muttered to herself as she wiped the grime off the panes to reveal the town in the distance, and attempting to balance herself on the derelict ladder.

For a brief moment, Ginny entertained the notion of being able to use magic to help her clean the windows, but she quickly shook her head at the ridiculous idea. All magic was banned from the kingdom ever since King Cornelius Fudge had ascended the throne; he had accused it of being the instruments of evil. The more Ginny thought about it, the more she understood why this fear had become so popular not only with the king himself, but with almost every member of the kingdom. The last Great War had been barely a decade ago, and the Lord Voldemort had used a large dispense of magic in an attempt to over throw the kingdom. Since his defeat, he had gone into hiding and the stories what happened to him ran wild and magic became feared. But not all magic was evil; Ginny's mother had been a hedge-witch herself, specializing in small healing spells and potions. Even with the apprehension of magic though, it not completely disappear. Practitioners of magic had to either stop or hide what they were doing since the ban, but Ginny knew that one should require such _special_ services, then it was not hard to find the appropriate spell or potion, especially in dark alleyways.

Sighing in resignation, Ginny threw the dirty rag back into the bucket of murky water. She couldn't continue on being a slave forever, but she knew that Olga would find a way to drag her back if she tried to leave. She was just finishing the last window when she heard her stepmother screech her name from the down the hall. Gritting her teeth, she went to receive her orders; escaping would have to wait for another day.

* * *

Harry Potter usually considered himself, not only a virtuous knight, but also a rational man. However, the problem in front of him was causing to quickly lose his patience. "You're sure?" he asked the other man standing before him, his best friend, Ron.

"Not completely. They are only rumors after all; stories the traders are spreading at the taverns and the docks," he replied.

Harry clenched his fists. This was not good news, even if they were rumors, but one never knew if they were based on truth or not. For years, the kingdom had been relatively peaceful, but now, merchants from the north were talking about the possible resurfacing of Lord Voldemort. "Rally the men, we'll meet on the practice field."

"And our plan of action?"

"We'll need to start preparing now. If Voldemort plans to attack, our army will be ready for war."

Ron grimaced, "we don't have nearly the amount of men necessary for a war, especially if it's anything like the war eight years ago."

"Recruit some more then." Harry ran his hand through his hair, messing it even more than usual. To say that he was a bit worried was an understatement. He had been there nine years ago during the Great War. He knew exactly how damaging war was; after all, he had watched so many of his own friends die as a result. But Ron, his best friend and constant companion ever since they were both boys, squires with much to learn about the world. They both persevered, sharing struggles and success. When Harry defeated Voldemort in battle, he was bestowed the highest honor of knighthood by the King. However, both Harry and Ron knew the steep price of heroism.

After Ron ran off to gather the men, Harry attempted to gather his thoughts and settle on a strategy, running his fingers through his hair again. His eyes ended up drifting out to the busy city beyond the castle gates, visible from the high palace window. They're all blissfully unaware, he mused, wishing he could keep it like that forever.

But it was inevitable, he knew. Voldemort would rise again, and with him, the darkness.

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Hello all, I've had this idea forever and it was bugging me. Just wanted to post this chapter to see how people would react. The beginning is mostly explaining everything and I will introduce more characters later. If you like the story, I will continue so please leave me something. Even a one-word reply will do just so I know if people are still around here these days. (I know, I've been gone forever.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.**

* * *

The few days after Harry had received the momentous news was spent in an uneasy kind of calm. It seemed that the rumors of Voldemort's reappearance were not widely believed by anyone, but made a good story for anyone who cared enough to listen. Even King Cornelius was skeptical when he was confronted with the case. Harry, on the other hand, was not so quick to dismiss them. "Put up notices around the city advertising for the need for new soldiers," he had instructed one of the men. "Include something about housing and food being provided, that should provide a bit of an incentive for some of the new soldiers to come." It was too early to alarm the public of Voldemort; there was nothing else he could do but anxiously wait.

It was late afternoon when Harry began his search for his friend before he finally found him. "Ron!" Harry's voice echoed and bounced off the stone walls of the corridor as he chased after him. "I need to talk to you."

Ron who was just on his way down to kitchens for a snack, turned around to see Harry running towards him. "Harry? What did you need me for? Volde—"

"Not here," Harry shushed. "You never know who's listening. Come on, we should go see Dumbledore." He motioned to Ron to follow him in the opposite direction. Ron threw one last longing look towards the passage leading to the kitchens before they both headed towards the northern tower of the castle which housed the impressive royal library. The library itself was a massive semi-circular room with three floors, all designed so that one could look over the edge of the balcony on each floor, and see the main floor below. Each wall was lined from floor to ceiling with books, and facing the north, several large windows allowed a generous amount of light to flood in. As they walked in, Ron gazed at the glass dome ceiling lovingly; every time he came here, he was always in awe from the sheer opulence.

The resident librarian, Dumbledore, leaned over the railing of the top floor at the sound of Ron's loud exhale. He nodded in greeting to both of them. "Wonderful, I was hoping to see you at some point today. Now, if you would please come up." Wordlessly, they both hurried up to meet Dumbledore who was already settled in his chair in front of a roaring fireplace (despite the daylight.) Two chairs sat empty with a platter of biscuits and cups of steaming tea made up exactly how they liked it waiting beside them. "I trust you boys are not just here to visit an old man. Perhaps it has something to do with those stories that are circulating in the taverns and at the docks?"

"So you've heard?" Harry asked, perching uncomfortably on the edge of one chair. "Voldemort coming back, that is. Do you think it's true?"

"Nothing is impossible."

"But Sir, if it's true, then we should start planning now before it's too late. We'll need to train more men for our armies and make sure we have reinforcements. The sooner we can defeat Voldemort permanently, the better."

Dumbledore sighed wearily. "It is never that simple when it comes to Voldemort. Of course, this time, it will be even more difficult now that King Cornelius has banned magic. Make no mistake, Voldemort will be using that weakness."

Ron who had been munching on the biscuits and silently listening to the exchange between Harry and Dumbledore, turned ashen. "B-but we defeated him once before, we can do it again—"

"Do you know something about it?" Harry interrupted. "You speak as though he has already returned."

Dumbledore was silent for a moment, choosing his words. "My sources have confirmed that Voldemort has indeed risen," he said gravely, hanging his head. "But we mustn't panic yet. It's not the time for that."

"No," said Harry rubbing the temples of his head. "You're right. By revealing Voldmort, it would create chaos among people. We don't know what Voldemort is up to but we can't underestimate him. We've defeated him before, but Voldemort is not so stupid to come back again unless he was sure he would win."

Dumbledore stood up and walked over the window, starring out. "Yes, Harry, but tact will be required this time. Make no mistake, soldiers will need to fight, but I do not know if it will be to the extent of the last war."

"What should we do?" asked Ron.

"Stay silent for now." Dumbledore turned to look at them, peering over his half-moon glasses.

Harry and Ron both exchanged a worried look, the biscuits and tea feeling like lead in their mouths. Dumbledore was up to something; they only hoped that whatever it was, it would save everyone in time and defeat Voldemort for good this time.

* * *

It was two days after the unreassuring meeting with Dumbledore. So far, there were no open signs that Voldemort was back; no slaughtering of entire villages or symbols branded on corpses. "We've got a few men who signed up for training," Harry explained to Ron as they walked down one of the many hallways of the castle. "Oliver's in charge of them for today, but I want to go take a look at them myself."

"I'd come too, but I got stuck on sentry duty today," Ron grumbled.

"I'm sure it'll be nothing special; boring stuff," Harry said quickly, trying to make Ron feel better. In actuality, Harry had wanted to see what kind of men had signed up for army and whether they would be trained quickly enough in time for Voldemort's arrival, but he felt it would be better to keep this to himself; Ron was already worried enough about Voldemort. Instead, Ron mumbled something unintelligible while scratching the back of his head in frustration. They rounded the corner and almost collided with someone.

"Weasley! I should have known! What other great oaf can walk without watching where they're going?"

Ron clenched his fist and prepared to swing, but Harry was faster and held Ron's arm from doing anything that may be regrettable later, no matter how satisfying it would be at the present time. "Malfoy, you pompous git!" Ron yelled, straining against Harry's hold.

"Tut, tut, Weasley. You should watch your foul language in the presence of your superior," Draco Malfoy responded.

Harry gritted his teeth and considered letting Ron's arm go. "Forget about it," he said to Ron.

"Perhaps you should take his advice, although I doubt you could get it through your thick head," he said with a sneer. Brushing past them, Draco deliberately bumped into Harry's shoulder, as if daring him to do something about it.

Finally freeing his arm, Ron glared at Harry. "You shouldn't have done that."

"Yes, I should have. You know what could happen if you hurt Malfoy and he decided he wanted revenge." Ron stayed silent, still fuming, but he didn't contradict Harry. Draco Malfoy was a lord by birth, a title passed down to him by his father, with connections to all the right people. If he wanted, he could have both of them sitting in the castle dungeons with a snap of his fingers.

During the Great War, there were several strong rumors of Lucius Malfoy having ties with Voldemort. Of course, nothing was actually proved and Lucius died before the war had even ended. Quite recently, Draco had left his manor in the countryside to move into the spare rooms of the castle (for political reasons, he had explained,) making Ron and Harry's life even more miserable than usual.

"Git," Ron muttered under his breath again. "Stupid, pompous git."

Harry didn't reply immediately, only narrowed his eyes even though he agreed wholeheartedly with Ron. He wanted nothing more himself than to wipe that arrogant smirk off his face with a well-aimed punch to the face… or the groin. Finally, he turned to Ron. "Forget about him. He's probably got nothing else better to do," he said, the words doing little to help his anger. They continued their journey in silence and when they reached the main doors, they parted ways; Ron to the gates that separated the city from the castle grounds, and Harry to the training field.

The newest, motley recruits were painfully out of place on the practice field. They looked around nervously, shifting from foot to foot, waiting for orders. Around them, the other soldiers took no notice of them and continued their practice.

"These are the only ones who turned up?" Harry asked incredulously.

"I'm afraid so," answered Oliver Wood, another one of the few survivors of the Great War who earned a prestigious commanding position in the royal army. "The allure of being a soldier is not so great these days. People grow complacent with long periods of time and do not believe that they would be so easily attacked again."

"Perhaps that is not such a bad thing. It is much better than living in constant fear."

Oliver snorted. "People forget too easily. Besides, it's only been eight years."

"Cheer up, mates," said Seamus Finnigan who had overheard the entire exchange. "If a better lot had showed up, we'd no long the best looking ones here." Harry laughed and Oliver allowed a small smile curve his lips.

As Harry and Oliver approached the group of new recruits, they all immediately straightened up. "Men, line up!" Oliver ordered in his most authoritive tone, all traces of joking gone. They quickly did what they were told without any protest. Harry hid a small smile; in his years of friendship with Oliver, he had forgotten how intimidating he could be. His tall stature and muscle from years of extensive training wordlessly conveyed to others that he was not someone to be messed with.

As Oliver continued, Harry let his smile drop as he surveyed the men, not entirely happy with the choices he was given. There were a few that seemed promising if given the proper training. He stopped in front of a particularly young boy. "How old are you."

He glanced at Harry before resuming a stare straight ahead. "Thirteen… Sir," he added quickly as if suddenly remembering who he was addressing.

"He's too young," Harry said loudly to the other knights and soldiers who had gathered to watch.

"I agree." Oliver said. "Anyone who is under the age of sixteen and over fifty can leave immediately!" He paused to watch a few of the men and boys grumble unhappily, heading towards the exit. "As for the rest of you, do not think that this will be easy. Here, you never know if tomorrow there will be war; you never know if today will be your last day." He paused, effectively letting his message sink in. "For now, you will be shown the sleeping quarters and be allowed to clean up. Training begins tomorrow."

As the men were leaving, Harry suddenly felt like he was being watched. He looked up at the high castle walls, searching for the source of his discomfort before he found what it was. From one of the distant windows, a pair of cool, grey eyes were watching them, and Harry did not like expression on his face at all.

* * *

Every day, it was almost the same routine for Ginny. Wake up before dawn, help prepare meals, carry out whatever daunting and mundane tasks Olga had set out for her, and collapse into bed (if you even call a barely-stuffed straw mattress a bed) exhausted. She was lucky if she could get through a day without a physical blow from Olga or Pansy, or Millicent, though the hits from Olga hurt the most. Even though they had other servants to serve them, it seemed that the hags set aside the most humiliating and difficult jobs for Ginny to do. They took pleasure in seeing her fail and then punishing her for it later.

It was only early morning, and Ginny had already cleaned the foyer floor so many times that the king could have eaten his meal off of it and complimented her on it. A bead of sweat ran down her neck, but she wiped it down, stopping for a moment to catch a glimpse of herself in the reflection in the bucket of water. Her brilliant red hair had come partly undone and pieces were falling into her face; she looked like a mess. From the next room, she could hear Olga bossing around the staff in there. Cringing at the shrill sound of her voice, Ginny's gaze settled on a particular painting hanging on the wall that featured a woman with a mischievous smile. For as long as she could remember, Ginny had always wondered who that woman was, whether she was some ancestor or just a lover of the artist who had lovingly painted that sparkle in her eyes. Whoever she was, Ginny always felt comforted by that picture; it gave her a sense of reassurance, even during her darkest days.

A knock on the front door interrupted her reverie and Ginny painfully got off her knees and back on her feet. Standing uneasily on the front step, rocking back and forth on his heels, stood an unfamiliar man who immediately took off his hat at the sight of Ginny. "Good morning, Miss. May ask to see the lady of the house? Madame Weasley?"

Anger flared within Ginny. "Madame _Molly_ Weasley passed away several years ago," she said harshly, "but if you wish to see Madame Olga, she is available."

The man was slightly taken aback. "Yes, of course," he quickly amended quickly. "I only wish to see the current wife of Arthur Weasley, and she is Madame Olga, then I must see her due to most urgent matters."

Ginny narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but allowed the man to follow her inside, dirtying the foyer she had just cleaned moments ago. "Stepmother, there is a man here to see you.

Olga, who was just in the middle of her breakfast, looked up at them. Ginny inwardly berated herself; she should have waited until Olga was finished her food, now she'll probably get beaten later. Olga shooed Ginny out of the room with a glare before she spoke to the man. "Yes?" she said impatiently.

"Madame," he said, sweeping into a dramatic bow. "If I may present myself, my name is Reginald Lionhart. I regret to intrude upon your home, but I bring news about your husband, Arthur Weasley."

"What news? What news do you bring about that miserable man?"

"It was off the coast of a lush island in the Mediterranean when it happened. I was onboard with the brave Arthur Weasley—"

From the doorway, where Ginny was hiding and listening into their conversation, she stifled a giggle. This Reginald Lionhart had all the flair and storytelling tactics of a stage actor.

"Enough! Just tell me what it is." Olga grew more and more irritated with the fool who was wasting her time.

"Your husband, he is dead. There was a shipwreck and we couldn't find him."

Ginny felt the blood drain from his face; suddenly the situation wasn't so funny anymore. It was silent in the dining room with only the clink of silverware as Madame put down her fork and knife. "Thank you for bringing me this terrible news. Oh, my poor husband!" She paused to heave a great sob that sounded like she had choked on the sausage she had been eating; Olga could probably match Reginald Lionhart in acting abilities. "Did my husband ever say anything about money, or a small fortune he never told me about?" Ginny rolled her eyes. It didn't surprise her that Olga would be asking about her father's money.

"Well, Mr. Weasley did mention something about leaving a sizable amount for his children to live comfortably. He spoke fondly of them, you know?"

Ginny felt her heart soar with hope; this was her chance to rid of Olga once and for all. With the money, she could go somewhere new where no one knew her name or her background; she could afford lodging and find a job where she would get paid.

"Yes, well, neither of his children will be requiring the money at the moment. Ronald has disappeared to Merlin-knows-where, and Ginevra is still living under my care. The money will come straight to me immediately."

At the sound of this, something inside of Ginny snapped. Her adrenaline and excitement immediately drained away to be replaced by indignation and rage. She stormed back into the dining room to confront them. "How dare you, you stupid cow! You have thrown away my father's money for years, and now you want to take mine too?"

Olga stood up stiffly. "Ginevra, this is not the time. We will discuss this later."

"I'm afraid I'm not a solicitor or a lawyer. I'm just a humble merchant," said Reginald Lionhart who was eyeing the exit nervously. He could feel the tension in the air and wanted to leave before anything happened. He had delivered the news so he had no need stay any longer than necessary.

"Really now, Ginevra," said Olga in a dangerously calm tone, completely ignoring the man. "I feed you, clothe you, and let you stay in my home for all these years, and this is how you repay me?" Olga's nostrils flared angrily.

"I have been a slave in my own home for years. I have repaid everything, and owe you and your unpleasant daughters nothing. Give me what is rightfully mine."

"Uh… good day now." The colourful Reginald Lionhart swept into a short bow that neither Olga nor Ginny noticed, and quickly left the house.

"You selfish brat! Perhaps some time in the cellar with the rats will open your eyes to what it is you deserve!" Grabbing her arm roughly, Olga proceeded to drag Ginny towards the kitchen and threw her in the cellar, ignoring the looks from the other servants.

Pain shot through leg as Ginny landed on the hard, stone floor. She turned just in time to see the wooden door slam shut with the tell-tale click of the lock turning in place. Hauling herself unsteadily to her legs, she banged on the heavy door. "Let me out!" But there was no answer, and after her hands were bruised and sore, she realized that no one was going to help her.

It was after dark when the door finally opened with a creak, a candle hovering in the doorway. Ginny had to blink a few times, trying to decide if she was dreaming or just going crazy. A weathered face peered at Ginny before she realized it was one of the servants, an old woman who had worked in the house for as long as Ginny could remember. She raised an arthritic hand and motioned quickly for Ginny to come up from the cellar. "Quick now," she whispered. "If Madame Olga catches us…" she trailed off and Ginny understood her.

"Thank you," she said awkwardly at this moment of rare kindness. Usually, the other members of the serving staff wouldn't dare cross Olga by helping Ginny. They knew that the punishment would be more than just being sacked.

"Your father was always good to us, and your mother too. You deserve so much more. Now go!"

Seizing the opportunity, Ginny left the kitchens and tried to tiptoe as silently as possible up towards the attic. Without a lamp or a candle, it was very dark up, but luckily, a full moon outside the window served to illuminate the small attic room. Grabbing what little belongings she had, she stuffed them into a coarse burlap bag she pilfered from the kitchen a long time ago. It had sat waiting under the loose floorboards for a chance like this.

There was nothing left here for her anymore, and as she crept down the stairs again, taking care to avoid a particular squeaky step, Ginny realized that she had been rather naïve. She should have done this a lot sooner, but she had always secretly hoped that her father would come back to save her. Now, even her father was gone forever, and she would never get a single knut of the money left behind. Finally, she unlocked the back door and slipped quietly into the still night. Throwing one last look at the house she grew up in, started walking down the beaten dirt road towards the city, freedom in every step she took.

* * *

**Just realized after I wrote this the scene where Olga throws Ginny into the cellar is partly from Drew Barrymore's movie **_**Ever After**_**. Didn't mean to take from there, but I'm giving it credit. **

**So? What did you think?**


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